“Do you call it tattle that Miss Mavis is in love with you?”

“Drivelling.”

“Then,” I retorted, “you’re very ungrateful.  The tattle of a pack of old women has this importance, that she suspects, or she knows, it exists, and that decent girls are for the most part very sensitive to that sort of thing.  To be prepared not to heed it in this case she must have a reason, and the reason must be the one I’ve taken the liberty to call your attention to.”

“In love with me in six days, just like that?”—­and he still looked away through narrowed eyelids.

“There’s no accounting for tastes, and six days at sea are equivalent to sixty on land.  I don’t want to make you too proud.  Of course if you recognise your responsibility it’s all right and I’ve nothing to say.”

“I don’t see what you mean,” he presently returned.

“Surely you ought to have thought of that by this time.  She’s engaged to be married, and the gentleman she’s engaged to is to meet her at Liverpool.  The whole ship knows it—­though I didn’t tell them!—­and the whole ship’s watching her.  It’s impertinent if you like, just as I am myself, but we make a little world here together and we can’t blink its conditions.  What I ask you is whether you’re prepared to allow her to give up the gentleman I’ve just mentioned for your sake.”

Jasper spoke in a moment as if he didn’t understand.  “For my sake?”

“To marry her if she breaks with him.”

He turned his eyes from the horizon to my own, and I found a strange expression in them.  “Has Miss Mavis commissioned you to go into that?”

“Not in the least.”

“Well then, I don’t quite see—!”

“It isn’t as from another I make it.  Let it come from yourself—­to yourself.”

“Lord, you must think I lead myself a life!” he cried as in compassion for my simplicity.  “That’s a question the young lady may put to me any moment it pleases her.”

“Let me then express the hope that she will.  But what will you answer?”

“My dear sir, it seems to me that in spite of all the titles you’ve enumerated you’ve no reason to expect I’ll tell you.”  He turned away, and I dedicated in perfect sincerity a deep sore sigh to the thought of our young woman.  At this, under the impression of it, he faced me again and, looking at me from head to foot, demanded:  “What is it you want me to do?”

“I put it to your mother that you ought to go to bed.”

“You had better do that yourself!” he replied.